


C’était Salement Romantique

by Swing Set in December (swing_set13)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-30
Updated: 2015-05-31
Packaged: 2018-04-02 01:54:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4041196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swing_set13/pseuds/Swing%20Set%20in%20December
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Triwizard tournament is really about fostering wizarding relations. Ask anyone. Just not Stiles, he’s busy French kissing Derek. </p><p>Hogwarts really should teach some linguistic classes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Originally on my tumblr. If your curious to what Derek is saying, you can always message me.

Scott’s waiting for him at the train station with a trolley ready for his trunk. He even has a sign that defies the saturation point of paper to glitter ratio which means his dad is working double-time and couldn’t get him.

“Stiles!” Scott waves which draws attention from Allison who’s been helping him unload his trunk.

“Who’s that?” she asks, her face pinkening from what Stiles assumes is the December chill in the London air.

“Just my best friend, Scott,” Stiles says, finally getting his trunk from under the giant pile as Allison seems to be distracted by something to help.

“A little help? Allison?” asks Stiles. She flushes even redder and hastily helps him drag his trunk away from the crowd of students trying to get their own luggage free.

Scott glides over on the trolley, skidding to a stop in front of them. “Dude, it’s been ages!” says Scott with a bright smile.

“Hey Scott.” Allison elbows Stiles in the side. “Ow!” he yelps and turns to glare but Allison is just smiling all doe-eyed.

“Scott, meet Allison. She’s in Gryffindor,” says Stiles and shoots Allison a disbelieving look when she brushes her hair behind her ear and smiles winningly at Scott who trips over himself to say hello.

“Nice to meet you,” stutters out Scott. “I’ve never met a witch before, are all of you as pretty?”

Stiles stares. Allison, the girl who hexes first and asks questions later, is giggling. It’s unbelievable. He zones out for a bit. Only to tune in when Scott is offering to treat Allison to dinner.

“Oi! You’re supposed to be taking me out,” says Stiles to his best friend.

Scott flushes red. “I mean all of us, you’re back for the holidays and well Allison is more than welcome to stop by for some hot chocolate.”

Allison is nodding. “I’ll call you on the fellytone.”

Stiles groans when Scott sighs dreamily.

“Fan-freaking-tastic,” he mutters. First Quidditch is canceled for the Triwizard Tournament, then his winter holidays are going to be full of Scott mooning around over Allison. Sometimes Stiles wonders when he’ll get some action. He thought having new students from Durmstrang and Beauxbatons would help his single status but the Beauxbatons’ wizards and witches just glare at him like his stomped on their favourite puppy and Stiles is eighty-five percent sure that Durmstrang’s students are only interested in Quidditch standings.

+++

“ _Est-ce que la place est libre?_ ” growls a pleasantly timber voice to Stiles’ right.

Looking up, Stiles gapes at the Beauxbatons’ wizard standing there holding a book. Derek Hale if Stiles memory serves, the school champion up against Camden Lahey for the Triwizard Tournament.

“Urgh,” Stiles manages before getting elbowed by Lydia.

“Stiles, make room,” she demands which Stiles takes to translate to leave and never come back. So he gives the stink-eye to the ridiculously handsome Frenchman who’s frowning at him.

“Yeah, yeah, by all means, buddy,” he snipes before picking up his bowl of oatmeal and his book bag and leaves the Great Hall.

“Fostering unity between magical communities, my eye,” he mutters. “More like stealing our seats.”

***

Stiles is in the library trying to find some peace when he hears the high pitched giggling of swooning First Years. He looks up from his Astronomy scroll to find the Beauxbatons’ champion looming over him.

“I was here first,” says Stiles, huffily.

“ _Tes yeux sont éblouissants. Ta peau est claire comme la neige, prêt pour être possédé par mon âme. Je suis ici pour déclarer mes intentions. Je veux prendre des heures langoureuses en traçant tes éphélides avec ma bouche pour établir une carte des étoiles que nous seuls connaissons l'origine,_ ” says Derek, his green eyes boring into Stiles, to the point that his ears turn red at the attention.

The only word he recognized was stars.

“ _É-to-iles_?” Stiles manages to say in confusion, looking at his Astronomy scroll. Did the guy want his homework?

“ _Oui_ ,” purrs the other wizard with a smirk and slides into the chair right next to Stiles, despite there being eight empty tables. His body a warm wall of heat against his.

“I don’t even think we’re in the same class-” Stiles begins to say hurriedly but his mouth is otherwise occupied when a pair of lips crashes onto them with a fierce possession. His brain may have died. He comes back to himself to find his hand somehow latched on to Derek’s silk tie, as if to ground him from the heated kiss that leaves his mouth bee stung and gasping for air.

“Wha-” he croaks out before Derek’s head dips down to his neck, the stubble from his unshaven jaw rubbing a warm heat across his skin, making him arch into Derek’s mouth as it nibbles down his collar to loosen his tie.

“I guess you took the part on wizarding relations to heart,” whimpers Stiles as Derek looks up with what can only be a lecherous smirk.

“ _Je vais te dévorer_ ,” murmurs Derek and that has a certain part of Stiles’ standing to attention.

“I don’t know what you said but this sounds hot, much more PG-13 than the library so-”

Derek just pulls him to his feet by his tie and Stiles’ feet have a mind of their own as they follow Derek to the back of the Restricted Section.

+++

“ _Christ, tu parles trop vite_ ,” Derek says with a frown. Stiles just grins because Derek speaking French has seriously affected how Stiles deals with languages. Ever since their first make out session in the library stacks.

“So that’s why Nolan’s Batman ‘verse is better,” Stiles finishes with a smile. One that has Derek’s eyes flaring with a possessive heat as he pulls Stiles closer despite almost being in each other’s laps in front of the Hufflepuff common room’s fireplace. “But you didn’t understand a thing, did you? I could say anything right now. Like how ridiculously good looking you are. Or how I’m really worried about the second task. I mean, it was dragons the first time. And you nearly got eaten when you turned into a wolf. Like dude, what were you thinking? Oh my god, please tell me you have a better plan for the next task. I’ve gotten used to you groping me in the Great Hall and making out under the stars at the top of the astronomy tower. If anything happened to you-”

Derek pulls his tie hard making Stiles lose his train of thought as Derek’s lips draw his own into a heated kiss.

“I’ll be fine,” growls Derek when they break about for air and Stiles’ heart stutters at the smooth drawl of his accented voice.

“You speak English,” gapes Stiles, scandalized.

“ _Un 'tit peu_ ,” responds Derek with a heated gaze and pulls Stiles back into his embrace. Stiles pulls back after two, wait, four lecherous kisses that would scandalize anyone walking into the common room. “Wait, we have to talk about this-oh god, do that thing with your teeth,” Stiles groans as Derek scrapes his mouth down Stiles’ neck instead of answering. “Seriously, you aren’t getting off by distracting me,” Stiles says, his voice cracking as Derek loosens his tie to get better access.

“ _J'essaie de faire ça_ ,” says Derek before working on giving Stiles the wettest hickie in all of Hogwarts: A History on his neck. 

+++

“Don’t give me that look,” says Stiles, ignoring his boyfriend. Yes, boyfriend. Stiles is using that label. You make out enough with a guy, it gives you boyfriend rights. Especially if you were his hostage in the second task. Stiles is still finding sand in his robes. If that isn’t boyfriend material then Stiles doesn’t know what is. What with him being stuck to Stiles even more than ever like he’s under some kind of hex. Stiles should ask Lydia if she knows any sexy hexes like that. But still, he’s ignoring his hot French boyfriend. With good reason. “You lied to me.”

“ _Non_ ,” says Derek with even more of a pout. It’s all pretty devastating.

“ _No-on_ ,” Stiles parrots quite atrociously. Yeah, he’s no linguist. But Derek’s jaw tick is enough for him to know how his point is getting across. “You can speak English. I’ve been making an ass out of myself for the past how many weeks. Weeks, Derek. And you’ve been secretly listening, like a creeper. A language creeper. I didn’t even know those existed.”

Derek just sighs and does that scrunched up look like he’s trying to understand. Which Stiles thinks is unicorn poop. Utter bullcrap by Muggle standards.

“ _Je comprends la moitié de ce que vous dites_ ,” says Derek, still pouting and edging closer to Stiles.

“Oh no, you aren’t distracting me with heavy petting,” says Stiles, using his potions textbook as a shield.

“Stiles,” Derek implores and Stiles resolve weakens. Weakens so much. Damn Derek’s ridiculously hot accent.“Mon bienaimé, je ne voulais pas mentir, mais c’est assez difficile de te convaincre que je veux passer ma vie avec vous qu’un avantage est dorénavant nécessaire.”

“Urgh,” Stiles groans. “You make it so hard to be mad at you. Really. This is ridiculous.”

Derek’s eyes flare up with happiness.

“You’re seriously making me regret taking Spanish instead of French last summer,” says Stiles as he lets Derek pull the book from his hands and drag his chair closer to Derek’s warm embrace. “I actually have homework, some of us aren’t Triwizard champions.”

But Derek just nuzzles the back of his ear, where proof of his ministrations is slowly healing. The only hickie that couldn’t be hidden by his school robes. Stiles shifts in his seat at the memory.

+++

The hawk that swoops through the kitchen window during Easter holidays like a ninja startles Scott who’s been demolishing Stiles’ dad’s waffles like there is no tomorrow.

“What the hell?” Scott chokes out as Stiles coos at the bird who preens on the empty chair between him and his dad. His father uses the distraction to flitch a piece of bacon from Scott’s plate.

“Hey Séraphin,” greets Stiles by offering the bird a bit of waffle. No one can resist his dad’s pumpkin waffles. They’re legendary.

“Who’s bird is that?” frowns Scott and bats Stiles’ dad’s hand away from taking anymore bacon.

“Derek’s,” says Stiles’ dad, getting back to his crossword.

“You’re still seeing him?” asks Scott. “Dude. Relationship status update needed.”

Stiles flushes bright pink when his dad’s attention focuses in on the conversation.

“Yes, Stiles, do tell,” his dad says.

“You know, I think Séraphin would like some bacon, how about I make more,” stutters Stiles, getting up from the table but not before stuffing the blue envelope tied on Séraphin’s left foot in his hoodie’s pocket.

“Poorly deflected, son,” remarks his dad dryly. But Séraphin inches closer to him for a pet. Stiles’ dad is soon distracted by the chirps of the hawk and the promise of bacon. Stiles has the privacy to unroll the note attached to the owl's leg. The French loopy cursive shimmers and then translates by magic. Derek mentioned previously about finding a set of Babelfish quills on their last trip to Hogsmeade. Stiles is grateful he doesn't need to run upstairs to try and find his worn out French-English dictionary. He's still learning the basics. Derek has a very good reward system for conjugation exercises. 

"What's it say?" asks Scott curiously. 

Stiles tries to remain stoic as he glances over the first half of the letter which is an ode to Stiles' eyes and ass. It's flattering. But not breakfast material. He scans the bottom of the note to see if there's anything worth sharing. His dad is looking at him expectantly. 

"Derek's invited me to spend summer at his parents' villa," Stiles says in disbelief.

"Villa?!" Stiles' dad squawks out in surprise. 

"Dude, is Derek some French wizard prince?" asks Scott like Stiles has been holding out on him with these details. 

Stiles' dad seems to come out of his stupor at that. "It's a generous offer Stiles but-"

And Stiles' heart feels like it's sinking to the pit of his stomach.

"- I'd like to meet this Derek before you plan any vacations together," finishes his dad and Stiles' face breaks out into a relieved grin. 

Looks like this summer is going to be interesting.


	2. French translations

_"C’était Salement Romantique"_ \- It was fucking romantic 

_“Est-ce que la place est libre?”_ \- Is this place free?

 _“Tes yeux sont éblouissants. Ta peau est claire comme la neige, prêt pour être possédé par mon âme. Je suis ici pour déclarer mes intentions. Je veux prendre des heures langoureuses en traçant tes éphélides avec ma bouche pour établir une carte des étoiles que nous seuls connaissons l'origine.”_ \- Your eyes are dazzling. Your skin is pure as snow, ready to be possessed by my soul. I am here to declare my intentions. I want to take languorous hours tracing your freckles with my mouth to map the stars we only know the origin.

 _“É-to-iles.”_ \- St-ars.

 _“Oui.”_ \- Yes. 

_“Je vais te dévorer.”_ \- I’m going to devour you.

 _“Christ, tu parles trop vite.”_ \- Fuck, you talk to fast

 _“Un 'tit peu.”_ \- A little bit.

 _“J'essaie de faire ça.”_ \- I’m trying to do that.

 _“Non.”_ \- No.

 _“Je comprends la moitié de ce que vous dites.”_ \- I understand half of what you say. 

_“Mon bienaimé, je ne voulais pas mentir, mais c’est assez difficile de te convaincre que je veux passer ma vie avec vous qu’un avantage est dorénavant nécessaire.”_ \- My beloved, I do not want to lie, but it's pretty hard to convince you that I want to spend my life with you. So any advantage is pretty helpful.


End file.
